


I still only travel by foot and by foot it's a slow climb

by thought



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Casual Ableism, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-queerplatonic relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: Mollymauk is smiling at her again.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf & Yasha
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	I still only travel by foot and by foot it's a slow climb

**Author's Note:**

> Again, thank you to [14CombatGeishas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/14CombatGeishas) for fighting typos

Mollymauk is smiling at her again.

She’s sitting on the far edge of the crowd around the fire, spooning this evening’s bland stew into her mouth methodically. It’s thick and the vegetables all have the same mushy texture, giving way between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. It coats the back of her throat and beneath her tongue. She’s pretty sure there isn’t any meat in it.

Yasha is sitting alone. There are people near her, singing and gossiping and re-stringing instruments or repairing equipment, but none of them approach close enough to speak to her. That’s fine. She didn’t come here to make friends; she’s good at being alone. If she lets her mind wander, the voices around her become soothing white noise.

Except. Mollymauk is smiling at her. He’s close to the fire, sitting on the ground with his coat spread out over his legs, sewing something onto the sleeve with an intense focus, but every few minutes he looks up and catches her eye, flashes a fanged smile.

She doesn’t know what he wants. Is she supposed to come over to sit with him? He’s right in the midst of the loudest part of the crowd, and she’s not really sure there’d be room for her even if she wanted to go over.

She thinks Mollymauk is many things that she isn’t. He is loud and bright and charming. He understands people. Understands how to make them do what he wants and think it their own idea. He draws negative attention, but the people that look at her with fear look at him with hatred. He seems so careless with his safety. They’ve only been through two towns since she arrived, but in both he’d wandered away for hours into dingy taverns and elegant shops alike. He smiles at Crownsguard like he’s daring them to do something and he smiles at small children like he doesn’t see their parents tugging them away. He’s observant, she sees the way he takes in every person in a room and every exit, who looks like they have money to spare and who looks gullible, but it’s as if his analysis stops there. She’s seen the way some of the other circus people – she is a circus person now too, she thinks – keep a watch on him when he’s nearby. Like they think he needs protection but aren’t quite sure how to provide it. Mollymauk cares and is cared for; she can practically see the threads that connect him to the cluster of people around the fire, a complex and sturdy web. Spider silk. Too delicate for her big hands, no matter how careful she is.

She scrapes the dregs of her stew from the wooden bowl and stands to bring it to the pair of sisters who are doing the washing up. They don’t say anything to her, just take the bowl and turn away. That’s ok.

In the distance she hears Gustav laugh, full and startled, and it makes her smile a little. His kindness is uncomplicated. She knows what is expected of her and what she can expect in return. He gave her a book to keep her flowers in, which he didn’t have to do, but it’s a good idea.

“Hello,” someone says behind her. She almost pulls her sword, but the atmosphere of the evening is peaceful enough that she’s not on-edge.

“Hi,” she says. Mollymauk has his coat folded over one arm, and she can see bandages covering his arm under his shirt. He’s got his empty bowl in his hand. One of the sisters glances back at them.

“Is he done with that?” she asks Yasha. 

Yasha doesn’t understand what she’s supposed to say. They didn’t want to talk to her twenty seconds ago, why now, with Molly right there? She looks between Molly and the woman. Mollymauk’s shoulders have stiffened, but he isn’t saying anything. Yasha takes a couple steps back, because she doesn’t like being part of social interactions she doesn’t understand, and Mollymauk can certainly handle himself.

“I’m done,” he says, shoving his bowl hard into the sister’s chest. Yasha wonders if now is the wrong time to ask their names. Probably.

Yasha starts to walk away, heading towards the woods where she can maybe look for flowers until it gets too dark. Before she can get too far, something taps her on the arm – a tail. Mollymauk jogs around to walk backwards in front of her, facing her, and she’s pretty sure he’s going to trip and break his neck, so she stops.

“I’m fixing my coat,” he says, in that eagerly precise way he speaks, like everything he wants to say is the most important thing in the world and he needs to share it as quickly and as clearly as possible. “Would you like to help me?”

Yasha blinks. “I’m not very good at sewing,” she says, unsure. “You looked like you were doing a good job.”

Mollymauk shakes his head a bit, and loops his tail around her wrist. “I don’t mind. And I can show you how to get better, if you’d like.”

“I…” Yasha looks down at the tail, then at the coat. It’s already got bright patches of colour splashed across the back and shoulders, intricate embroidery that she couldn’t hope to equal no matter how many lessons she received. “I’ll just ruin it,” she says, gently.

Mollymauk huffs, tossing his head in frustration. “You were alone,” he says, and Yasha doesn’t know if he means just now by the fire, or the week before when he’d found her lying in a gully in the forest while the rainwater built up around her. “Nobody should be alone if they don’t have to be. So come help with my coat. You don’t have to talk, but it’s warmer by the fire.”

His smile is unbearably gentle, but his eyes are haunted. Yasha carefully puts her other hand on the spade of his tail, the texture strange under her fingertips. He tugs, very gently on her arm.

Yasha curls her hand more securely over the tip of his tail, covering it completely and pressing it close and safe against her pulse point. She thinks, in a combination of desperation and denial, _I can’t do this again._ >

She follows Mollymauk. Of course she does. Later, she will think this was inevitable, but at the time it just feels dangerous and stupid and _oh_ , she wants it so badly.

He keeps his promise. He tucks her right at his side and offers her a needle and thread. He drapes his coat over both of their laps and demonstrates patiently as she tries to follow the quick movements of his fingers; his claws painted brightly and the backs of his hands scarred. He never seems frustrated when it takes her a long time to make her hands do what she wants them to, and whenever someone comes over to talk to him he is careful to keep the focus off of her while still allowing her the opportunity to jump in if she wants to. She doesn’t want to, but it’s not as isolating as she’s experienced before.

After a while, she notices his tail creeping around her waist, warm and loose and maybe unconscious on his part. He beams up at her the first time she manages to embroider a simple leaf on the stem of an elaborate thorny flower on the back. She returns the smile. There’s a feeling in her chest and in her head like floating. She recognizes it.

She can’t do this again.


End file.
